Pantomime
by ConstantComment
Summary: Written for speedpr0nz round #3 on LJ: It’s Anonymous Night at Pantomime, Draco’s favourite night club, and he plans to take advantage.


**Title:** Pantomime

**Author: **tealeaf523

**Fandom:** Harry Potter

**Pairing:** Draco/Harry

**Rating:** NC-17 (X)

**Length:** ~1,800

**Summary:** It's Anonymous Night at Pantomime, Draco's favourite night club, and he plans to take advantage.

**Prompt(s) Used:** Pantomime (Also, I wrote this to Adam Lambert's song, "For Your Entertainment", because it's my jam at the moment. No other logical reason, really.)

**Warnings:** Clubbing, very little dialogue, grinding (dancing), frotting, oral sex, bottoming from the top, mild dirty talk, bottom!Harry, slight OOC-ness, ridiculousness

**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Pantomime**

Draco adjusted his midnight blue mask, smoothing back a few strands of platinum hair in the mirror before smiling slyly, feeling good about tonight. There was something about Anonymous Night that made him feel like teasing the hell out of every man he saw. He was free to do what he wanted, without the consequences. He could have a great shag and not have to worry about the 'I'm late for work's or 'Get out before my wife Floos in from Bora Bora's in the morning. Hell, he wasn't even a Malfoy tonight. He could have anything he wanted. He could _be_ anyone he wanted.

Draco could feel the bass pumping up from the tiles of the loo and settling right in his chest, making him feel light. Alive. He needed to get out there and dance. He pushed the door open and allowed the music to shroud him in wild energy as he was pulled into the crowd of people.

Weaving his way through the sweat-slicked, undulating bodies, Draco made his way toward the bar, narrowly avoiding being pulled back into the throng by three very handsome gents with purple masks that covered their eyes and cheekbones, but certainly didn't cover their welcoming smiles and _those torsos_. Draco begged them off with a mouthed, "Maybe later," smiling apologetically as they pouted but became quickly engrossed in one another.

The bar was cool beneath his fingertips, but didn't shock him out of the haze of life that seemed to pump through the nightclub with the pulse of the bass. He signalled the bar tender just before a large hand slid over the sensitive dip of his back. He looked over his shoulder at the brawny bloke, this one with golden brown hair and a bronze mask, and smiled shyly as the stranger murmured in Draco's ear, lips barely touching his skin.

"Can I buy you that drink?" Goldy said.

Draco smiled even wider, watching as Goldy pulled out a bag of change and tossed it to the bar tender, who Immobilized the velvety purse while he mixed a drink. Goldy was gorgeous, but not what Draco was looking for tonight—a definite top and a bit of a sweetheart, he could tell. But, Draco was… what was he looking for? Who knew?

Draco tossed back his shot and sucked in a big breath before backing away from the bar. "Thanks, love!" he called to the bewildered Goldy, who still sat on the barstool with an arm outstretched. Draco winked and shrugged at the man, who rolled his eyes and chuckled exasperatedly, turning back to the bar. He'd find someone else, Draco reasoned. Within a few moments Draco was enveloped on all sides by dancing bodies, all thoughts of the man at the bar drowned in the crowd.

Draco dodged the grasping hands again and again, until he was at the very heart of the throng, eyes closed and face tipped up as he danced to the entrancing beat. It felt _good_. He was high-strung, giddy. He was needy. And he loved it. He opened his eyes as the song blended into the next, a slightly faster one with a heavy synth, and saw him.

_Target, spotted._

He was dancing alone, surprisingly, although plenty of others had tried to gain his attention. He wore a pearly white mask, jet-black hair falling over his forehead in a deliciously dishevelled way, the black lights accenting strands of the tousled locks in purple and blue. He was clumsy, like he didn't dance often, but he still looked like sex on legs. His face lit up when he recognized the song, and he went wild, hips swaying as his arms rose above his head.

All thoughts of teasing forgotten, Draco made his way toward the man, taking all of him in. He wore a black tee that hugged his body like a lover, and white denims that hugged his arse just the same. He was fit and medium-height, like Draco, but narrower, more compact it seemed, although his magic was powerful, barely contained. His lips were rosy and full.

This song couldn't have been more apt for the mystery man.

"I have to dance with you," he found himself saying, and the man focused on him, hips still swaying. He looked Draco up and down, taking in the silky blue shirt and black denims Draco wore, down to the black leather boots. Draco felt suddenly conscious of all his shortcomings.

Instead of sniffing and turning away, like Draco was sure he would have done, the man—Jet, Draco decided to call him, giggling mentally—smiled widely and turned to back into Draco, twisting his hips. Succumbing to his senses, Draco wrapped one hand around Jet's hip, but couldn't keep his other hand in any one place; he caressed the man's inner thigh, his stomach, his chest, and up his arm to grasp the man's hand. They wrapped both of their arms around the back of Draco's neck, and Jet dropped his head against Draco's shoulder.

Draco turned his face into his partner's cheek, mouthing the words of the song against his neck, coaxing a long moan from the man's lips.

Jet broke away from him, causing momentary panic in Draco, only to spin around and approach him face to face. Lips parted, Jet looped his arms around Draco's neck and they moved closer, closer still until they were breathing hard into each other's mouths. Draco pushed a thigh between the man's legs, feeling his need separated only by a few thin layers of fabric. They swayed with the beat, and Draco had a hard time keeping his hands in place—he wanted to feel every inch of this body. God, but he settled on his perfect arse, hands splaying against his partner and pulling him against his body. They both moaned, and Draco reached further, fingers searching until he was grabbing at his partner's inner thighs, probably brushing against Jet's bollocks with each sway of the hips.

The song reached a new crescendo, and Draco found a tight, muscular leg wound around his waist, only to fall clumsily to the floor again. Jet whined low in his throat, and tried again, and this time Draco was ready. He tightened his hold on the other's arse with one hand, but wrapped an arm around his back to support him. He could feel so many eyes on his back as they practically fucked on the dance floor, hips thrusting to the beat as they panted, lost. Draco leaned forward that extra inch to capture his partner's lips, which was apparently a good idea because Jet fisted a hand in his hair and shoved his tongue into Draco's mouth in time with his thrusts.

The last chorus boomed out of the speakers, and Draco felt his partner's thrusts speed up, a needy growl bubbling up from his chest. They broke their kiss for a breath or two, but Jet, his cheeks flushed red, was apparently gone.

"I'm gonna…" he whispered against Draco's lips. Draco shook his head.

"No. Apparate," he answered. He pushed Jet off of him, but kept a firm hold of his waist. "That okay?" he panted.

The man nodded, and Draco whipped them away to his flat without further ado.

As soon as they popped into existence in his bedroom, Draco shoved Jet onto his duvet and Banished his clothing. His partner writhed on the bed, wanton, while Draco Banished his own clothes, eyes never leaving the man's perfect pink cock that rested, weeping pre-cum, against a thatch of black curls. He slid quickly onto the bed, and taking Jet's face in his hands, kissed him hard on the mouth. He could feel the other's hips thrust into the air, and decided to give him what he really wanted, leaning over Jet's heaving body and slipping his prick into his mouth.

"Ah!" Jet yelled, and Draco sucked hard, welcoming the flood of come without a thought. He swallowed as the man thrust again and again, growing weaker as each wave of his orgasm hit. When his partner appeared to be done Draco hummed appreciatively, causing the other to jerk his hips because of his oversensitivity. "God," the man choked out, finally. He was breathing in huge gulps of air, and Draco smiled down at him, wishing that he could see his whole face.

"Mhmm," Draco said.

Jet looked up at him, chest still heaving, and smiled, rosy lips parting lazily. Draco lowered himself down to the bed, looking at his partner, waiting patiently even though his cock was crying desperately for attention. Jet sat up quickly, rested enough it seemed, and straddled Draco's hips. Draco was relieved. He'd combust if they didn't get to the point, soon. Jet lifted up and positioned Draco's cock at his entrance, murmuring a protective charm, and Draco groaned, wondering…

"I'm prepared. I have been all night."

"Filthy slut," Draco murmured and lifted his legs to plant his feet firmly on the bed.

With that, Jet plunged down, impaling himself on Draco's cock. Draco gaped at the sensation, and reached forward to grab the other's hips as Jet started up a fast pace, rolling his hips just as naturally as he'd danced. The man took his cock in one hand and ran the other hand through his mussed hair before splaying it across Draco's chest, snapping his hips and squeezing Draco's cock with his arse.

"Merlin, I won't last with you doing – hunh – _that_!" Draco gasped out.

"Hmm, we have all night."

Draco thrust upward into the snug channel of his partner's arse, feeling his orgasm approaching at breakneck speed. Soon he was whispering out, thoughtlessly, helplessly, "I need to see you!"

Jet stuttered in his movements, but shyly removed his mask while he blushed down to his toes. High cheekbones and dark lashes framed his bottle green eyes. Before Draco had even registered the face of the Boy Who Lived, he was coming the hardest he'd ever come before, his vision lost in a blinding white. He was unconscious before his head hit the bed.

Fingers were combing through his hair, and oh, that felt nice. Draco hummed appreciatively and turned toward the hand, nose bumping into a warm neck. He no longer had his mask on.

"You awake yet?" a voice murmured. And Draco answered with a shake of his head. No, he was still in a very pleasant dream, thank you very much. "C'mon Malfoy—I mean… ah. Draco. Guess I should start calling you that."

"There's the real Potter at last," Draco said into the man's neck. "Completely unable to string a sentence together."

"Hush, you."

"How'd you know it was me?" Draco asked.

The hand paused in his hair. Draco opened his eyes to meet a pair of bottle green ones, staring at him intently. Finally, Potter said, "It's the way you walk. I'd know that snobbish swagger anywhere. And your hair, of course."

"So you knew it was me from the beginning."

Potter hummed.

"Well, then. So much for 'Anonymous Night at Pantomime'."

"I'm surprised you didn't recognize me," Potter said, resuming the movement of his fingers.

"I was… distracted."

Potter hummed again, although Draco could tell he was grinning widely. "Think you could be distracted enough for another go?"

Draco looked up at him. "How about dinner this Sunday?"

Potter looked surprised, but the grin came back full storm. "How about both?"

"Fuck yes," Draco said.

Potter laughed and pulled Draco on top of him to rest neatly in the vee of his thighs. "Now, fuck me 'til I scream, will you?"

**Fin.**


End file.
